
Class .^.51^4^ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2011 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/sagaofoakotherpoOOvena 




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aga of ti}t #afe 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



WILLIAM H. VENABLE 




J > J ■> 

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NEW YORK 

l^oUD, 0peaD & Compani? 

1904 



LIBRARY ofcONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

APR 22 1904 

Copyright Entry 

CLASS A^ XXo. No. 

^ COPY B 






Copyright, 1884, 1893, by W. H. Venable 
Copyright, 1904, by Dodd, Mead and Company 



Published April, 1904 



. » • • • 



> • • » • * a • 

J * * • • 4 



BURR PRINTING HOUSE 
NEW YORK 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SAGA OF THE OAK I 

A DIAMOND 8 

MY CATBIRD 9 

THE TUNES DAN HARRISON USED TO PLAY . . . 12 

FAIRYLAND I4 

SUMMER LOVE I7 

CLOVER HILL I9 

THE WEDDING DEFERRED 21 

TO THE LITTLE MIAMI RIVER 23 

IMMORTAL BIRD SONG 25 

HINCHMAN's MILL 27 

VICTOR 30 

THE LAST FLIGHT ^3 

A GENTLE MAN 36 

INVIOLATE 38 

FAITH 40 

PLATO 41 

DANTE 42 

W^AGNER's KAISER MARCH 43 

DEFOE IN THE PILLORY 44 

WE THE PEOPLE 46 

EIGHTY-SEVEN 49 

THE FOUNDERS OF OHIO 50 

THE FOREST SONG 52 

A BALLAD OF OLD KENTUCKY 54 

iii 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

JOHN FILSON 57 

JOHNNY APPLESEED 62 

WENDING WESTWARD 68 

THE teacher's DREAM 7I 

BY THEIR FRUITS 75 

PESTALOZZI 76 

"there IS NO CASTE IN BLOOD" 80 

VIVA LA GUERRA 82 

battle cry 84 

el emplazado 86 

national song 88 

the right of might qo 

james e. murdoch 92 

the concord seer 95 

the poet of clovernook 97 

the greenfield wizard 99 

william baird of ridgeville 100 

let's shake 104 

a welcome to boz 107 

the book auction io9 

A GIFT ACKNOWLEDGED .Ill 

THE OLD HOMESTEAD II3 

JENNIE MOORE 115 

ASHES 116 

POSY 117 

A SNOW BIRD 119 

THE UPSET 121 

THE SCHOOL GIRL . 122 

THE READERS 125 

WAG 126 

DONATELLO . . 129 

iv 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 


GABRIEL OF SCHVVARTZENWALD 13 1 


COFFEA ARABICA 










137 


AN INDIA SHAWL . 










140 


APOLOGY .... 










141 


UNRECONCILED 










144 


ANNIVERSARY 










146 


AMAUROTE .... 










148 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



SAGA OF THE OAK. 

HOARSELY to the midnight moon 
Voiced the oak his rugged rune 
"Harken, sibjl Moon, to me; 
Hear the saga of the Tree. 

"Thou, O queen of splendor, must 
Pale and crumble back to dust; 
Through slow eons diest thou, — 
Doomsday craves my vitals now. 

"I am scion of a line 
Old, imperial, divine; 
Earth produced my ancestor 
Ere great Odin was, or Thor. 

"From the hursts of holy oak 
Fateful gods of Asgard spoke; 
In the consecrated shade 
Bard and Druid sang and prayed. 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Fostered in an oaken womb 
Slept Trifingus, sword of doom; 
Therewith woaded Caratak 
Drave the steel-sarked Roman back. 

'*Where, profaned by legioned foes, 
In the shuddering forest rose 
Mona's altars flaming rud, 
Britain drowned her woe in blood. 

"Then the dread decree of Norn 
Sounded in the groves forlorn; 
Vikings swooping from the North 
Harried every scaur and forth. 

"Forests fell with crash and roar, 
Masted galiots spurned the shore, 
Dragon-breasted, — swum the meer. 
Daring danger, scouting fear. 

"Henglst's brood and Horsa's kin, 
Seed of Garmund, sons of Finn, 
Dane and Saxon sail and sweep 
Battling o'er the wrathful deep ; 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Hearts of oak ! their valor gave 
Right of might to rule the wave, 
Gave to Nelson's ocean war 
Copenhagen, Trafalgar! 

"Bray of trumpet! roll of drum! 
When shall Balder's kingdom come? 
Bitter sap shall when grow sweet 
In the acorn at my feet? 

"Centuries do I stand here 
Thinking thoughts profound and drear. 
Dreaming solemn dreams sublime 
Of the mysteries of Time. 

"Roots of mine do feed on graves; 
I have eaten bones of braves ; 
In the ground the learned gnomes 
Read to me their cryptic tomes. 

"Annals treasured in the air 
All the past to me declare; 
Every wind of heaven brings 
Tribute for me on its wings. 

3 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Through my silence proud and lone 
Whispers waft from the Unknown; 
Musing eld hath second ken — 
Moon! the dead shall live again. 

"Sun-scorch have I borne, and pangs 
From the gnaw of winter's fangs ; 
Fought tornadoes, nor forsook 
Roothold when the mountains shook. 

"Oft the zig-zag thunder hath 
Struck me with his fiery scath, — 
To my core the havoc sped. 
Yet I never bowed my head. 

"I am weary of the years; 
Overthrown are all my peers, 
Slain by steel or storm or flame, — 
I would perish too — the same. 

"Yet shall I a little space 
Linger still in life's embrace 
Ere metempsychosing time 
Drag me down to Niflheim. 
4 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Wherefore shun or summon fate? 
Wisest they who sanely wait; 
In my fiber nature saith, 
Life is good and good is death. 

"Mated birds of procreant Spring 
In my branches build and sing; 
Grass is green and flowers bloom 
Where I spread my golden gloom ; 

"Happy children round me play; 
Plighted lovers near me stray; 
Insects chirping in the night 
Thrill me with obscure delight; 

''Circling seasons as they run, 
Couriers of the lavish sun, 
Dower me with treasure lent 
By each potent element; 

"Ministers to me the whole 
Zoned globe from pole to pole; 
In my buds and blossoms beat 
Pulses from the central heat; — 
5 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Ever^^thing is part of me, 
Firmament and moving sea ; 
I of all that is am part, 
Stone and star and human heart. 

"Primal Cause etern, self-wrought, 
Majesty transcending thought. 
This my substance and my soul, 
Origin, desire, and goal. 

"Through creation's vasty range 
Blows the winter blast of change; 
Leaf -like from the Life-Tree whirled 
World shall rot on ruined world. 

"Hail, inexorable hour 
Fraught with clysmian wrack and stour 
Welcome, transmutation's course 
And the cosmic rage of Force. 

"Yond the atomed universe 
Now we gather, now disperse, — 
Unto darkling chaos tost, 
Back from the chaos — nothing lost. 
6 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Forth abysmal voids of death 
Resurrection issueth: — 
Flaming ether, quickened clod, 
Bodying new forms of God. 

"Harken, Moon ! — When I am gone, 
I, re-born, shall burgeon on ; 
Out thine ashes shall arise 
Other Thou, to ride the skies." 

Spake no more the hoary oak; 
No response the wan moon spoke; 
But the poet who had heard 
Pondered the Dodonian word. 



A DIAMOND. 

UPON the breast of senseless earth 
This precious sparkling stone, 

A jewel of Golconda's worth, 

In sovran beauty shone. 

My lady for a moment bore 

The gem upon her brow, 
A moment on her bosom wore : — 

'Tis worth the Orient now. 



MY CATBIRD. 

A CAPRICCIO. 

NIGHTINGALE I never heard, 
Nor the skylark, poet's bird; 
But there is an aether-winger 
So surpasses every singer, 
(Though unknown to lyric fame,) 
That at morning, or at nooning. 
When I hear his pipe a-tuning, 
Down I fling Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth,- 
What are all their songs of birds worth? 
All their soaring 
Souls' outpouring? 
When my Mimus Carolinensis, 
(That's his Latin name,) 
When my warbler wild commences 
Song's hilarious rhapsody. 
Just to please himself and me ! 
Primo Cantante! 
Scherzo ! Andante ! 
Piano, pianissimo! 
Presto, prestissimo! 

9 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Hark! are there nine birds or ninety and nine? 

And now a miraculous gurgling gushes 

Like nectar from Hebe's Olympian bottle, 

The laughter of tune from a rapturous throttle ! 

Such melody must be a hermit-thrush's ! 

But that other caroler, nearer, 

Outrivaling rivalry with clearer 

Sweetness incredibly fine! 

Is it oriole, redbird, or bluebird. 

Or some strange, un-Auduboned new bird? 

All one, sir, both this bird and that bird. 

The whole flight are all the same catbird! 

The whole visible and invisible choir you see 

On one lithe twig of yon green tree. 

Flitting, feathery Blondel! 

Listen to his rondel ! 

To his lay romantical! 

To his sacred canticle! 

Hear him lilting, 

See him tilting 

His saucy head and tail, and fluttering 

While uttering 

All the difficult operas under the sun 

Just for fun; 



10 



MY CATBIRD 



Or in tipsy revelry, 

Or at love devilry, 

Or, disdaining his divine gift and art, 

Like an inimitable poet 

Who captivates the world's heart 

And don't know it. 

Hear him lilt! 

See him tilt! 

Then suddenly he stops, 

Peers about, flirts, hops. 

As if looking where he might gather up 

The wasted ecstasy just spilt 

From the quivering cup 

Of his bliss overrun. 

Then, as in mockery of all 

The tuneful spells that e'er did fall 

From vocal pipe, or evermore shall rise, 

He snarls, and mews, and flies. 



II 



THE TUNES DAN HARRISON USED TO 

PLAY. 

OFTTIMES when recollections throng 
Serenely back from childhood years, 
Awaking thoughts that slumbered long, 
Compelling smiles or starting tears. 
The music of a violin 
Seems through my window floating in, — 
I think I hear from far away 
The tunes Dan Harrison used to play. 

Dan Harrison ! I see him there 

Beside the roaring winter hearth, 
Fiddling away all mundane care, 
His genial face aglow with mirth ; 
And when he laid his bow aside, 
"Well done ! well done !" he cheerly cried ; 
Well done, well done, indeed were they, 
The tunes Dan Harrison used to play. 

12 



TUNES DAN HARRISON USED TO PLAY 

I do not know what tunes he played, 

I cannot name one melody; 
His instrument was never made 
In old Cremona, o'er the sea ; 

Yet from its chords his raptured skill 
Drew magic strains my soul to thrill, 
Some ah so mournful, some so gay, 
The tunes Dan Harrison used to play. 

I have been witness to the art 

Of many a master of the bow, 
But none have power to charm the heart 
Like him I listened long ago ; 

Love stole on tiptoe through my trance 
To welcome dream-eyed young Romance, 
Responsive to the passioned sway 
Of tunes Dan Harrison used to play. 

Now with the music, as it floats, 

Seraphic harping faintly blends ; 
I catch amid the mingling notes 
Familiar voices of old friends ; 
While choral echoes sweetly fall. 
Of yearning love angelical. 
And melt, like trembling tears, away, 
In tunes Dan Harrison used to play. 

13 



FAIRYLAND. 

A SECRET glen engirt by hills serene 
Sleeps in rich gloom of summer boscage 
green ; 
Its dreamy dells, in solemn twilight hush, 
Echo dulce warblings of the hermit-thrush ; 
Kist by young May, the windflower trembles 

there, 
And frail dicentra breathes the dainty air; 
The haunt beseems for elfin revels planned, 
And so the children call it Fairyland. 

A silvern rill, loved by the watercress, 
Winds purling through this drowsy wilderness, 
Suckling the willow, snowy-corymbed haw. 
Vain-flaunting redbud, indolent pawpaw, 
Suave linden, and gay buckeye brimming free 
His nectar cups to lure the drunken bee ; 
Aloof, in coats of pearl-green armor, stand 
Three sycamores, to guard the Fairyland. 

14 



FAIRYLAND 



The busy grapevine o'er the coppice weaves 
A cunning mesh of interlacing leaves, 
Whereon adventurous urchins clamber high, 
With giddy shout saluting the blue sky ; 
Or loll in golden sunshine baptismal. 
Inhaling balm of buds ambrosial, 
And, by hilarious breezes rocked and fanned. 
Through loops of verdure gaze from Fairyland. 

Ere dies on heaven's breast the morning star, 
All unsubstantial, visionary, far, 
In opalescent vapor loom the glades, 
Dawn-rosy domes, dim grottoes and arcades, 
Of yon enchanted dingles of the fay ; 
Behold! transmuted in the sheen of day. 
By aureolar rays of Iris spanned, 
A bower of dewdrops, glitters Fairyland! 

When dusk descends, the eerie host delight 
As twinkling fireflies to bestar the night ; 
Then melancholy tree-toads shrill the throat, 
And chirring crickets chime an irksome note ; 
Flits the lean bat the timorous wren to fray ; 
The muffled screech-owl hurtles on his prey ; 
For evil wings a gruesome hour command. 
Though holy stars keep watch o'er Fairyland. 

15 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



All demonkind, or wicked, null, or good. 
Lurk in the hollows of the sprightful wood; 
There murk fogs drop distillings of the sea; 
The weird moon plies her midnight witchery ; 
Time slumbers there ; there Love and Beauty 

sport; 
And Death holds there his grim, fantastic court ; 
No ghost may blab, no mortal understand 
The mystic wonders of our Fairyland. 



i6 



SUMMER LOVE. 

I KNOW 'tis late, but let me stay, 
For night is tenderer than day; 
Sweet love, dear love, I cannot go. 
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. 
The birds in leafy hiding sleep ; 
Shrill katydids their vigil keep ; 
The woodbine breathes a fragrance rare 
Upon the dewy languid air; 
The fireflies twinkle in the vale, 
The river looms in moonshine pale, 
And look ! a meteor's dreamy light 
Streams mystic down the solemn night ! 
Ah, life glides swift, like that still fire- 
How soon our throbbing j oy s expire ; 
Who can be sure the present kiss 
Is not his last? Make all of this. 
I know 'tis late, sweet love, I know, 
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. 
17 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Fantastic mist obscurely fills 
The hollows of Kentucky hills ; 
Heardst thou? I heard or fear I heard 
Vague twitters of some wakeful bird ; 
The winged hours are swift indeed ! 
Why makes the j ealous morn such speed ? 
This rose thou wearst may I not take 
For passionate remembrance' sake? 
Press with thy lips its crimson heart ; 
Yes, blushing rose, we must depart ; 
A rose cannot return a kiss — 
I pay its due with this, and this ; 
The stars grow faint, they soon will die, 
But love faints not nor fails. — Good-bye ! 
Unhappy j oy — delicious pain — 
We part in love, we meet again ! 
Good-bye ! — the morning dawns — I go. 
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so. 



i8 



CLOVER HILL. 

ON the brow of Clover Hill 
Stands a maiden gazing out 
Through the purple twilight still, 
Half in rapture, half in doubt ; 
In the heavens Venus glistens. 
While the maiden looks and listens. 

On the brow of Clover Hill 

Deeper gloaming shadows fall ; 
Moans the plaintive whippowill; 
Lonesome is the cricket's call ; 

In the heavens Venus glistens, 
Far the maiden looks and listens. 

On the brow of Clover Hill 

Lingering she fondly sighs ; 
Anxious fears her bosom fill, 

Tears bedew her mournful eyes ; 
In the heavens Venus glistens. 
Still the maiden looks and listens. 
19 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Footsteps ! hark ! On Clover Hill ! 

Faring nearer and more near! 
Hearts ecstatic throb and thrill! 
"War is over ! He is here !" 

In the zenith Venus glistens, 
Lovers kiss and Heaven listens. 



20 



THE WEDDING DEFERRED. 

COMPLAINING flow the waters slow 
Along the valley green and low ; 
The lilies dight in virgin white 
Float fragrant in the ardent light, 
And to the gossip ripples say, 
"It is the Day !— is't not the Day? 
When comes the bridal train this way ?" 

Yon amethystine hill-top kist 
By lingering enamored mist. 
Hears in the sky warm zephyrs sigh 
To wooing clouds that dally by ; 
The wandering whispers seem to say, 
"Is't not the Day ?— it is the Day ! 
Why comes no bridal train this way?" 

Forlorn of mood, by love pursued, 
A youth laments in solitude; 
The brown dove's eyes soft sympathize 
With him and to her mate she cries, 

21 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"What can the glad espousals stay? 
It is the Day ! — is't not the Day ? 
Yet comes no bridal train this way." 

O laggard moon, arise full soon 

And swim to night's auspicious noon, 

The star-sea ride and swiftly glide 

From eventide to eventide, — 

Whirl through a month, that I may say 

"It is the Day ! It is the Day ! 

Now comes the bridal train this way I" 



22 



TO THE LITTLE MIAMI RIVER. 

ROMANTIC the rocky and fern-scented 
regions, 
Miami, the grots where thy rambles begin. 
By cedars and hemlocks, in evergreen legions, 
With silence and twilight seclusion shut in. 

There darkling recesses in miniature mountains 
Recall to my fancy the haunts of the gnome ; 

There fabled L'ndina might rise from the foun- 
tains, 
Or sport in the waterfalls' glistening foam. 

Now laughing in ripples and dancing the sedges. 
Now fretting the minnows in eddy and whirl, 

Now kissing the pebbles that sprinkle thy edges. 
And laving the pearl and the mother-of-pearl ; 

Glide, whispering now under sycamore shadow. 
Now singing by hamlet and cottage and mill. 
Now shimmering onward through flowery 
meadow, 
Now glassing the image of foresty hill. 

23 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



The farm boy, as careless he follows the harrow 
O'er lowlands which quicken and ripen the 
maize, 

Reads oft in some token of stone, — axe or arrow, 
The wars and the loves of unchronicled days. 

Then steals on the air with thy murmuring num- 
bers 
A moan of lament for a race and its lore, — 
A sigh for yon chieftain forgotten, who slum- 
bers 
Beneath the lone mound on thy emerald shore. 



24 



IMMORTAL BIRDSONG 



WHAT though mine ear hath never heard 
The wing'd voice of the sky ? 
Nor hstened to the love-lorn bird 
Whose plaints in darkness die? 

The poets improvise for me 

Lark-notes that never fail, 
And make more sweet than sound can be 

The song of nightingale. 

From rapt Alastor's lyric leaves 

Joy's flying carol springs ! 
On darkling pinion sorrow grieves 

When Adonais sings. 

I list the lavrock warbling clear 

In birks of bonny Doon ; 
The bulbul's swooning voice I hear, 

Beneath the Persian moon. 
25 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



I hear across the centuries 
What Philomela sung, 

In Attic groves, to Sophocles, 
When Poesie was young. 



26 



HINCHMAN'S MILL. 

LONELY by Miami stream, 
Gray in twilight's fading beam, 
Spectral, desolate and still, 
Smitten by the storms of years, 
Ah ! how changed to me appears 
Yonder long-deserted mill. 

While the ruin I behold. 
Mossy roof and gable old, 

Shadowy mid obscuring trees. 
Memory's vision, quick and true, 
Time's long vista gazing through, 

Unseen pictures dimly sees. 

Sees upon the garner floor 
Wheat and maize in golden store, — 

Powdery whiteness everywhere, — 
Sees a miller short and stout 
Whistling cheerfully about. 

Making merry with his care. 
27 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Pleased, he listens to the whirr 
Of the swift-revolving burr, 

Deeming brief each busy hour; 
Like a stream of finest snow. 
Sifting to the bin below. 

Fall the tiny flakes of flour. 

Once my childish feet were led 
Down some furtive way of dread, 

Through yon broken floor to peer, 
Where the fearful waters drift 
In a current dark and swift, 

Flying from the angry weir. 

Once, with timid step and soft, 
Stealthily I climbed aloft. 

Up and up the highest stair ; — 
Iron cogs were rumbling round. 
Every vague and awful sound 

Mocked and mumbled at me there. 

Wonder if those wheels remain, 
And would frighten me again? 

Wonder if the miller's dead? 
Wonder if his ghost at night 
Haunts the stairs, a phantom white? 

Walks the loft with hollow tread? 
28 



HINCHMAN'S MILL 



Spectral, desolate and still, 
Stands the solitary mill. 

Close beside the gliding stream: 
Darkness overtakes the sun. 
Suddenly the day is done, 

And of Time and Death I dream. 



29 



VICTOR. 

WHEN June exhaled her rose-sweet breath 
And earth in sunshine smiled, 
Untimely came intrusive Death 
And stole away our child. 

As some fast-fading star declines, 

Dissolving in the sky ; 
As wastes the dewdrop while it shines, 

So did our darling die. 

Ah, fairer than the violet frail. 

Frost-slain on April's breast. 
And purer than the lily pale, 

The babe's unbreathing rest. 

Our eyes grew numb with tearless woe, 
Prayer swooned upon the tongue, 

As to his lips of smiling snow 
Our anguished kisses clung. 

30 



VICTOR 

O hapless Victor, name of pride! 

Dear hands, poor Httle feet ! 
No thorn ye found, no path ye tried; — 

O envious winding sheet ! 

Most mournful change and utter loss ! 

Return, my child, return! 
Or, angels, guide my faith across 

The grave his state to learn. 

Oh, grant me from the vast unknown 

Some breath of solacing! 
The spirit ! whither has it flown 

On timorous alien wing? 

All silent is the cruel sky; 

The saints no pity lend; 
My lamentation and my cry 

To heedless void ascend. 

]\Iy heart, my weeping, bleeding heart 

Wails at the door of fate. 
And faints in darkness and apart, 

Bereft and desolate. 



31 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



I only find, wher'er I grope, 

A cradle and a pall; 
Find, at the gloomy verge of hope, 

A grave — and that is all. 

An empty cradle and a lone 
Small mound of chilly sod. 

O'er which I bow and vainly moan 
To move the heart of God. 



32 



THE LAST FLIGHT. 

LO, in my path 
A frozen songbird lies, 
A victim of the sky's 
BHnd, elemental wrath. 

The stolid year 

Shall not in me repress 
The impulsive tenderness 

That moves a pitying tear. 

Life's flutter o'er, 

Thy quavering heart, now still. 
No more shall throb and thrill. 

Shall love and fear no more. 

For thee in vain 

Shall Spring array the woods. 
In nest-safe neighborhoods : — 

Thou canst not build again. 
33 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Did instinct fail 

When, from the Boreal rack, 
Athwart thy migrant track 

Hurtled the ruthless gale? 

A cruel nest 

The feather-mocking snows! 

And ah, what gasping throes 
Assailed thy dying breast! 

Wing-spent, alone, 

Adrift from every mate. 
Flung down by baffling fate, 

Thou froze to the Unknown. 

How saith the Word? 

Does He who governs all 
Take notice of the fall 

Forlorn, of thee, poor bird? 

And is it so 

His awful love divine 
Provides for me and mine 

When frore the tempests blow? 



34 



THE LAST FLIGHT 



Mute traveler, say, 

How fare we when we die, 

And whither do we fly 
Along the unseen way? 

Vain questionings 

In death's bleak eddy whirled ! 

What heeds the other world 
My broken, bleeding wings? 

Is life no more? 

Is death the final doom? 

Or shall the soul replume 
Her flight and sing and soar? 

Yea, surely, He 

Who melts my love to tears 
For this dead songster, hears 

And pities mine and me. 

His love must know 

Our sorrow, and will lift 

Our numbed lives from the drift 

Of death's all-hushing snow. 



35 



A GENTLE MAN. 

I KNEW a gentle Man;— 
Alas ! his soul has flown ; 
Now that his tender heart is still, 

Pale anguish haunts my own. 
His eye, in pity's tear, 

Would often saintly swim; 
He did to others as he would 
That they should do to him. 

He suffered many things, — 

Renounced, forgave, forbore ; 
And sorrow's crown of thorny stings, 

Like Christ, he meekly wore; 
At rural toils he strove; 

In beauty, joy he sought; 
His solace was in children's words 

And wise men's pondered thought. 

He was both meek and brave, 
Not haughty, and yet proud ; 

He daily died liis soul to save, 
And ne'er to Mammon bowed. 
36 



A GENTLE MAN 



E'en as a little child 

He entered Heaven's Gate ; 
I caught his parting smile, which said, 

''Be reconciled, and wait." 



37 



INVIOLATE. 

WE took a walk in Winter woods, 
My little lad and I,— 
The hills and hollows all were pearl, 
And sapphire all the sky. 

Before guerilla winds we saw 
The skurrying drift retreat ; 

We thought of budded roots that lay 
Asleep beneath our feet. 

We spoke of how, last year, in May, 

One sunny bank we found. 
Where wind-flowers stood in fairy crowds. 

To charm the gladdened ground. 

A subtle feeling checked the boy, — 
His small hand held me back, 

With mute appeal that we should tread 
The wood-path's beaten track. 

38 



INVIOLATE 



"My child, 'tis pleasanter to break 
New pathways as we go." 

He said, "I do not Hke to spoil 
The beauty of the snow." 



39 



FAITH. 

THE spreading circle of the known 
That Science strives to bound with laws 
Is but a glowing sparkle thrown 
From God, the radiant central cause. 

His mystery is vaster far 

Than knowledge is or e'er can be; 

The wheel of Evolution's car 
Rolls onward through eternity. 

A stilly voice forever sounds 

The lapses of our doubt between: 

"Seek not to give Religion bounds, 
Nor limit Faith by forces seen." 



40 



PLATO. 

ATHENIAN prophet of the soaring mind! 
What new lamp burns so brightly as his 
old? 
He changed Philosophy from dross to gold 
By poet's alchemy ; and he combined 
Egypt and Ind and the Hellenic States 
With all the knowledge Cadmus' letters hold, 
In Logic's crucible to be refined; 
He opened Speculation's splendid gates 
To Western ways where Science after trod ; 
A reign of sweeter Ethics he foretold, 
Renouncing Zeus for a diviner God ; 
And, unaffrighted by the awful Fates, 
In starry sandals of Religion shod. 
From pagan darkness Plato led mankind. 



41 



DANTE. 



AFTER READING "pARADISO." 



HIS sacred Muse, on soaring rapture's wings. 
Aspired the radiant empyrean high, 
And bore to earth the splendor of the sky ! 
Durante's spirit to my senses brings 
The excessive beauty of transcendent things 
That thrill imagination's ear and eye ; 
With joy I hear the blissful carolings 
Of angel hosts in robes of dazzling white ; 
My soul partakes the poet's ecstasy ! 
Through all my meditation and my prayer 
Steals reminiscence of the Stream of Light, 
And of the Rose unutterably fair, — 
And O ! the threefold glory of The One, 
The Love that moves the circling stars and sun ! 



42 



WAGNER'S KAISER MARCH. 

TO THEODORE THOMAS. 

WHAT diapasons from the hush profound 
Thy magic wand, O Master, summons 
forth 
To laud imperial Kaiser, robed and crowned ! 
Hail ! multitudinous music of the North ! 
Titanic Wagner's soul informs the sound! 
Ho ! instruments triumphant, trump and drum. 
And cymbal clanging where the troopers come ! 
The Gothic valor now is set to score ; 
I hear the tramp of Saxon thought unbound. 
The victor's cry, disdaining death or wound, — 
I hear the saber ring, the cannon roar! 
This is the throbbing tune for Halfred's rhyme, 
The symphony of glorious war sublime, 
Valhalla's martial joy forevermore! 



43 



DEFOE IN THE PILLORY. 

ON to the Pillory, ho! 
To punish bold Daniel Defoe ! 
Come on to the place 
Of shame and disgrace ! 
Bring rose-garlands sweet 
To cast at his feet ! 
Fill glasses! Fill, ho! 
Here's to Daniel Defoe! 

On to the Pillory, ho! 
To punish bold Daniel Defoe ! 
His fate he has earned, 
His book we have burned. 
That its soul may fly forth, 
East, west, south and north! 
Blow, trumpeter, blow! 
Here's to Daniel Defoe! 

On to the Pillory, ho! 
To punish bold Daniel Defoe! 
44 



DEFOE IN THE PILLORY 

Shout him greeting full loud ! 
Sing his praise to the crowd ! 
The sentries may swear, 
But what do we care? 
More roses we'll throw ! 
Here's to Daniel Defoe! 

On to the Pillory, ho! 
To punish rogue Daniel Defoe ! 
Pelt him, maidens and men! 
For he thinks with a pen. 
And his thought is too free ! 
God bless him ! See ! See ! 
Fill glasses! Fill, ho! 
Here's to Daniel Defoe! 



45 



WE THE PEOPLE. 

WE the People, not the Crown, 
Not the surplice nor the brand, 
Noble's crest nor schoolman's gown, 
Burse nor rostrum, grange nor town, — 
We the People rule our land. 

We the People, not the Few, 
High nor low nor middle class, 

High and low and middle too, 

Freemen, he and I and you, 
We the multitude, the mass. 

Dumb we plodded feudal years. 
Goaded by the lash of scorn; 

Groaning, wept a sea of tears ; 

Lo ! at last our day appears. 
Dawn of the millennial morn ! 

Asia deemed our woe decreed, 

Brahm nor Buddha heard our cry, 
Europe heard with sullen heed. 
Prince and Pontiff mocked our need, 
Making Christ a bitter lie. 
46 



WE THE PEOPLE 



Demagogue nor Demigod 

Shall again control the World ; 
Man awoke ! disdained the rod, 
Spurned the despot whip and prod, 
To the dust his rider hurled. 



Man has come unto his own; 

Broken are his bands and bars; 
Faith's futurity foreknown 
Domes a sky of promise sown 
Thick with happy-omened stars. 

Zealous, not iconoclast, 

We would spare the ancient true ; 
Life in death is rooted fast ; 
And the fruitage of the Past 

Is the Passing, — is the New. 

Azure blood and haughty crest, 

Blazon of heraldic scroll, 
Coin in coffer, star on breast, — 
These are good, but better, best, 
Is the rank, the wealth, of soul. 



47 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Earth grows better growing old, 
Still by happier races trod; 

Plato's iron men are gold; 

Large humanities unfold; 
Evolution's law is — God. 

We the People, We the State, 
Subject, Sovereign, both in one, 

Trust in Highest Potentate. 

Trust, O World, in Us and wait. 
God has willed our will be done. 



48 



EIGHTY-SEVEN. 

AS a mighty heart in a giant's breast 
With rhythmic beat 
Sends marching from brain to feet 
The crimson vigor of creative blood, 
So, in the bosom of the brawny West, 
So, in the stalwart breast of the Nation, 
Throbs the Great Ordinance, — a heart, 
A vital and organic part. 
Propelling by its strong pulsation 
The unremitting stream and flood 
Of wholesome influences that give 
Unto the body politic 
The elements and virtues quick 
Whereby Republics live. 



49 



THE FOUNDERS OF OHIO. 

APRIL, 1888. 

THE footsteps of a hundred years 
Have echoed, since o'er Braddock's Road 
Bold Putnam and the Pioneers 
Led History the way they strode. 

On wild Monongahela stream 

They launched the IMayflower of the West, 
A perfect State their civic dream, 

A new New World their pilgrim quest. 

When April robed the Buckeye trees 
Muskingum's bosky shore they trod; 

They pitched their tents and to the breeze 
Flung freedom's star-flag, thanking God. 

As glides the Oyo's solemn flood 

So fleeted their eventful years ; 
Resurgent in their children's blood, 

They still live on — the Pioneers. 

50 



THE FOUNDERS OF OHIO 

Their fame shrinks not to names and dates 
On votive stone, the prey of time ; — 

Behold where monumental States 
Immortalize their lives sublime ! 



51 



FOREST SONG. 

Read at the first meeting of the American Forestry 
Congress, in Music Hall, Cincinnati, April 19, 1882. 

A SONG for the beautiful trees! 
A song for the forest grand, 
The Garden of God's own hand, 
The pride of His centuries. 
Hurrah! for the kingly oak, 

For the maple, the sylvan queen. 

For the lords of the emerald cloak. 

For the ladies in golden green. 

For the beautiful trees a song! 

The peers of a glorious realm. 

The linden, the ash, and the elm. 
The poplar stately and strong, — 
For the birch and the hemlock trim, 

For the hickory staunch at core. 
For the locust thorny and grim. 

For the silvery sycamore. 
52 



FOREST SONG 



A song for the palm, — the pine, 
And for every tree that grows, 
From the desolate zone of snows 

To the zone of the burning line ; 

Hurrah ! for the warders proud 
Of the mountainside and the vale, 

That challenge the thunder-cloud, 
And buffet the stormy gale. 

A song for the forest, aisled. 
With its Gothic roof sublime. 
The solemn temple of Time, 

Where man becometh a child. 

As he listens the anthem-roll 

Of the voiceful winds that call. 

In the solitude of his soul. 

On the name of the All-in- All. 

So long as the rivers flow. 

So long as the mountains rise, 
May the foliage drink of the skies 

And shelter the flowers below ; 

Hurrah ! for the beautiful trees ! 
Hurrah ! for the forest grand, 

The pride of His centuries. 

The Garden of God's own hand. 
53 



\ 



A BALLAD OF OLD KENTUCKY. 

WELL, this is my story of Schoolmaster 
John, 
And how, single-handed, he slew 
A terrible monster, one May day, at dawn, 
When our staunch old Kentucky was new. 

Full rude was the cabin, o'er shadowed by trees, 
For the Lexington school-children made; 

For, Cadmus forbid that the shrewd A-B-C's 
Be lost in the tanglewood shade ! 

Alone sat the pedagogue, throned on a stool, 

Entranced by poetical lore; 
He waited and read, while the morning's breath 
cool 

Floated in through the wide-open door. 

Bent over a magical page of the tome 
That Vergil — how long ago! — wrote, 

He mused of ^neas and Dido and Rome, 
When a tiger-cat sprang at his throat! 

54 



A BALLAD OF OLD KENTUCKY 

Fight, fight ! John INIcKinney, or perish I He 
fought ! 

Forgot was the Queen and her woe! 
He uttered no cry ; of the children he thought 

As he grappled his terrible foe ! 

Now which shall be victor, the brute or the man? 

Hands battle against teeth and claws ! 
Survive the dread struggle the nature that canl 

Savage might against letters and laws! 

The beast by the master was throttled and 
crushed 
On his desk, while its fangs stung his side ; 
With the crimsoning rill from his pulses that 
gushed. 
The leaves of his Vergil were dyed. 



Who fly to the rescue ? Who scream with alarm ? 

Three scared little maidens ! Then said 
The schoolmaster, smiling, "No harm, dears, no 
harm ! 
I have caught you a wild-cat ; — it's dead." 

55 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



And this is the story of pedagogue John 

Of Kentucky, and how it befell 
That, in the heroic old days that are gone, 

He did what he had to do, well. 

God set him his task in the woods of the West 
To teach and to tame what was wild ; 

To give his heart's love and the blood of his 
breast 
For the good of the pioneer's child. 

No story of Theseus or Hercules strong 

More beautiful is, nor so true; 
The meed of devotion to duty is song : 

Then pay John McKinney his due. 



56 



JOHN FILSON. 

Matthias Denman, Robert Patterson and John Filson 
laid out the town of Losantiville, now the city of Cin- 
cinnati, in 1788. Filson, schoolmaster and surveyor, 
went out to explore the woods between the Miamis, but 
never returned. 

JOHN FILSON was a pedagogue — 
A pioneer was he ; 
I know not what his nation was 
Nor what his pedigree. 

Tradition's scanty records tell 

But little of the man, 
Save that he to the frontier came 

In immigration's van. 

Perhaps with phantoms of reform 

His busy fancy teemed, 
Perhaps of new Utopias 

Hesperian he dreamed. 

John Filson and companions bold 

A frontier village planned, 
In forest wild, on sloping hills. 

By fair Ohio's strand. 
57 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



John Filson from three languages 

With pedant skill did frame 
The novel word Losantiville 

To be the new town's name. 

Said Filson : "Comrades, hear my words : 
Ere three-score years have flown 

Our town will be a city vast." 
Loud laughed Bob Patterson. 

Still John exclaimed, with prophet-tongue, 

"A city fair and proud, 
The Queen of Cities in the West !" 

Mat Denman laughed aloud. 

Deep in the wild and solemn woods 
Unknown to white man's track, 

John Filson went, one autumn day, 
But nevermore came back. 

He struggled through the solitude 

The inland to explore, 
And with romantic pleasure traced 

Miami's winding shore. 
58 



JOHN FILSON 



Across his path the startled deer 
Bounds to its shelter green ; 

He enters every lonely vale 
And cavernous ravine. 

Too soon the murky twilight comes, 
The boding night-winds moan; 

Bewildered wanders Filson, lost, 
Exhausted, and alone. 

By lurking foes his steps are dogged, 

A yell his ear appalls ! 
A ghastly corpse, upon the ground, 

A murdered man, he falls. 

The Indian, with instinctive hate. 

In him a herald saw 
Of comJng hosts of pioneers. 

The friends of light and law; 

In him beheld the champion 

Of industries and arts. 
The founder of encroaching roads 

And great commercial marts; 
59 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



The spoiler of the hunting-ground, 
The plower of the sod, 

The builder of the Christian school 
And of the house of God. 

And so the vengeful tomahawk 
John Filson's blood did spill, — 

The spirit of the pedagogue 
No tomahawk could kill. 

John Filson had no sepulcher, 
Except the wildwood dim; 

The mournful voices of the air 
Made requiem for him. 

The druid trees their waving arms 
Uplifted o'er his head; 

The moon a pallid veil of light 
Upon his visage spread. 

The rain and sun of many years 
Have worn his bones away, 

And what he vaguely prophesied 
We realize today. 
60 



JOHN FILSON 



Losantiville, the prophet's word, 
The poet's hope fulfils, — 

She sits a stately Queen to-day 
Amid her royal hills ! 

Then come, ye pedagogues, and join 

To sing a grateful lay 
For him, the martj^r pioneer. 

Who led for you the way. 

And may my simple ballad be 

A monument to save 
His name from blank oblivion, 

Who never had a grave. 



6i 



JOHNNY APPLESEED. 

A Ballad of the Old Northwest. 

A MIDNIGHT cry appalls the gloom, 
The puncheon door is shaken : 
"Awake ! arouse ! and flee the doom 1 
Man, woman, child, awaken! 

"Your sky shall glow with fiery beams 
Before the morn breaks ruddy! 

The scalpknife in the moonlight gleams, 
Athirst for vengeance bloody!" 

Alarumed by the dreadful word 
Some warning tongue thus utters, 

The settler's wife, like mother bird, 
About her young ones flutters. 

Her first-born, rustling from a soft 
Leaf -couch, the roof close under, 

Glides down the ladder from the loft. 
With eyes of dreamy wonder. 
62 



JOHNNY APPLESEED 



The pioneer flings open wide 

The cabin door, naught fearing; 

The grim woods drowse on every side, 
Around the lonely clearing. 

"Come in ! come in ! nor like an owl 
Thus hoot your doleful humors; 

What fiend possesses you, to howl 
Such crazy, coward rumors?" 

The herald strode into the room ; 

That moment, through the ashes, 
The back-log struggled into bloom 

Of gold and crimson flashes. 

The ghmmer lighted up a face, 

And o'er a figure dartled. 
So eerie, of so solemn grace. 

The bluffs backwoodsman startled. 

The brow was gathered to a frown, 
The eyes were strangely glowing. 

And, like a snow-fall drifting down. 

The stormy beard went flowing. 

63 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



The tattered cloak that round him clung 
Had warred with foulest weather; 

Across his shoulders broad were flung 
Brown saddlebags of leather. 

One pouch with hoarded seed was packed, 
From Pennland cider-presses; 

The other garnered book and tract 
Within its creased recesses. 

A glance disdainful and austere, 

Contemptuous of danger, 
Cast he upon the pioneer, 

Then spake the uncouth stranger : 

"Heed what the Lord's anointed saith ; 

Hear one who would deliver 
Your bodies and your souls from death ; 

List ye to John the Giver. 

"Thou trustful boy, in spirit wise 
Beyond thy father's measure, 

Because of thy believing eyes 
I share with thee my treasure. 
64 



JOHNNY APPLESEED 



"Of precious seed this handful take; 

Take next this Bible Holy : 
In good soil sow both gifts, for sake 

Of Him, the meek and lowly. 

"Farewell ! I go ! — the forest calls 

My life to ceaseless labors ; 
Wherever danger's shadow falls 

I fly to save my neighbors. 

"I save; I neither curse nor slay; 

I am a voice that crieth 
In night and wilderness. Away ! 

Whoever doubteth, dieth !" 

The prophet vanished in the night, 
Like some fleet ghost belated; 

Then, awe-struck, fled with panic fright 
The household, evil-fated. 

They hurried on with stumbling feet, 

Foreboding ambuscado ; 
Bewildered hope told of retreat 

In frontier palisado. 
65 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



But ere a mile of tangled maze 

Their bleeding hands had broken, 

Their home-roof set the dark ablaze, 
Fulfilling doom forespoken. 

The savage death-whoop rent the air! 

A howl of rage infernal ! 
The fugitives were in Thy care, 

Almighty Power eternal! 

Unscathed by tomahawk or knife, 

In bosky dingle nested, 
The hunted pioneer, with wife 

And babes, hid unmolested. 

The lad, when age his locks of gold 
Had changed to silver glory. 

Told grandchildren, as I have told. 
This western wildwood story. 

Told how the fertile seeds had grown 
To famous trees, and thriven ; 

And oft the Sacred Book was shown, 
By that weird Pilgrim given. 
66 



JOHNNY APPLESEED 



Remember Johnny Appleseed, 
All ye who love the apple ; 

He served his kind by Word and Deed, 
In God's grand greenwood chapel. 



67 



WENDING WESTWARD 

ANEW star rose in Freedom's sky 
A hundred years ago ; 
It gleamed on Labor's wistful eye, 
With bright magnetic glow; 
Hope and Courage whispered, Go, 
Ye who toil and ye who wait ! 
Open swings the People's gate ! 
Beyond the mountains and under the skies 
Of the Wonderful West your Canaan lies: — 
On the banks of the Beautiful River, 
By the shores of the Lakes of the North, 
There fortune to each will deliver 
His share of the teeming earth. 

Jocund voices called from the dark 
Hesperian solitude, saying, Hark! 
Harken, ye people ! come from the East, 
Come from the marge of the ocean, come! 
Here in the Wilderness spread a feast ; 
This is the poor man's welcome home. 

68 



WENDING WESTWARD 



Hither with axe and plow; 

(Carry the stripes and stars !) 

Come with the faith and the vow 

Of patriots wearing your scars 
Like trophies, upon the victorious breast, — 

Noblemen ! wend to the West ! 
Load your rude wagon with your scanty goods 

And drive to the plentiful woods ; 
Your wheels as they rumble shall scare 

The fleet-footed deer from the road, 
And waken the sulky brown bear 

In his long unmolested abode; 
The Redman shall gaze in dumb fear 

At the wain of the strange pioneer, 
His barbarous eyes vainly spell 

The capital letters which tell 

That the White-foot is bound 

For the good hunting-ground 

Where the buffaloes dwell. 

To the Ohio Country, move on ! 
Bring your brain and your brawn 

(Some books of the best. 

Pack into the chest ! ) 
Bring your wives and your sons, 
Your maidens and lisping ones; 

69 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Your trust in God bring; 

Choose a spot by a spring, 
And build you a castle — a throne, 
A palace of logs — but your own ! 

Happy the new-born child 

Nursed in the greenwood wild ; 
Though his cradle be only a trough, 
Account him well off; 
For born to the purple is he, 
The proud royal robe of the Free! 
For the latest time is the best. 
And the happiest place is the West, 
Where man shall establish anew 
Things excellent, beautiful, true! 



70 



THE TEACHER'S DREAM. 

THE weary teacher sat alone, 
While twilight gathered on : 
And not a sound was heard around, 
The boys and girls were gone. 

The weary teacher sat alone, 
Unnerved and pale was he; 

Bowed by a yoke of care he spoke 
In sad soliloquy: 

"Another round, another round 

Of labor thrown away, 
Another chain of toil and pain 

Dragged through a tedious day. 

"Of no avail is constant zeal. 

Love's sacrifice is loss, 
The hopes of morn, so golden, turn, 

Each evening, into dross. 

"I squander on a barren field 
My strength, my life, my all; 

The seeds I sow will never grow. 
They perish where they fall." 
71 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



He sighed, and low upon his hands 

His aching brow he prest, 
And hke a spell upon him fell 

A soothing sense of rest. 

Ere long he lifted drowsy eyes, 

When, on his startled view. 
The room by strange and sudden change 

To vast proportions grew! 

It seemed a senate house, and one 
Addressed a listening throng; 

Each burning word all bosoms stirred, 
Applause rose loud and long. 

The wildered teacher thought he knew 
The speaker's voice and look, 

"And for his name," said he, "the same 
Is in my record-book." 

The stately congress hall dissolved, 

A church rose in its place. 
Wherein there stood a man of God, 

Dispensing words of grace. 

72 



THE TEACHER'S DREAM 

And though he heard the solemn voice, 

And saw the beard of gray, 
The teacher's thought was strangely wrought 

"My yearning heart to-day 

"Wept for this youth whose wayward will 

Against persuasion strove, 
Compelling force, love's last resource, 

To stablish laws of love." 

The church, a phantasm, vanished soon ; 

What shadowy picture then? 
In classic gloom of alcoved room 

An author plied his pen. 

"My idlest lad !" the master said. 

Filled with a new surprise, 
"Shall I behold his name enrolled 

Among the great and wise.^^" 

The vision of a cottage home 

Was now through tears descried: 
A mother's face illumed the place 

Her influence sanctified. 

73 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



''A miracle ! a miracle ! 

This matron well I know! 
She was a wild and careless child 

Not half an hour ago. 

"Now, when she to her children speaks 

Of duty's golden rule, 
Her lips repeat, in accents sweet. 

My words to her at school." 

Dim on the teacher's brain returned 
The humble school-room old; 

Upon the wall did darkness fall. 
The evening air was cold. 

"A dream !" the sleeper, waking, said, 
Then paced along the floor. 

And, whistling low and soft and slow, 
He locked the school-house door. 

His musing heart was reconciled 

To love's divine delays: 
"The bread forth cast returns at last, 

Lo, after many days !" 



74 



BY THEIR FRUITS. 

ABOVE the clash of counter creeds 
These gospel accents swell: 
Whoever doeth righteous deeds 
Hath read his Bible well. 

Like fragrant blooms of lavish spring 

Are adoration's vows; 
The tree that pleases God will bring 

Fair fruitage on its boughs. 



75 



PESTALOZZI. 

For the 150th anniversary of the birthday of Pesta- 
lozzi, celebrated in Cincinnati, January 13, 1896. 

THROUGH vasty shades of savage Occident 
The Ohio groped what time the man I 
sing 
Took first quick draught of that free element 

That thrills Swiss life, and felt the quivering 
Of Alpine light which welcomed him to earth. 
In Zurich then was born — sublime event — 
A man-child in whose soul new gospels waited 
birth. 

The world is ever plastic in the hand 
Of humble saviours fearless of the cross : 

One self -for getting hero may command 

And mould the future, scorning present loss: 

Meek Pestalozzi, herding in his mind 

Helvetia's strayling little children, planned 

By their salvation surely to redeem mankind. 

76 



PESTALOZZI 



Much hope, more love possessed him, but most 
grief ; 

His heart, a mourner, sobbed o'er common woe : 
Did the Almighty slumber or seem deaf 

To wails ascending from His poor below? 
Nay, Heaven remembers every bitter tear. 

Yet mundane ills must seek on earth relief ; 
Lo, the Divine hath found a human volunteer. 

By sad Lucern arose the children's cry, 
The shelterless, the poor, the innocent ; 

The man of Zurich spake : "They must not die : 
War cast them out, but I by Peace am sent 

To father them and mother them and feed 
Their bodies and their spirits ; need have I 

None other than to share their utmost dolorous 
need. 

"Oh, better never to be born at all 

Than live forlorn, the victim of neglect ! 
To fall from brotherhood is lowest fall. 

Lift up the low ! bid man's soul stand erect ! 
On Education found the Church and State. 

r send through Europe my imploring call: 
Millennial blessings round the Kindergarten 
wait ! 

77 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



"Unfold what is within ! Develop ! IMake 
Full, fragrant efflorescence of the soul ! 
Let bloom the brain and call the heart awake ! 
Nothing repress ; expand the being, whole. 
Complete and perfect under nature's awe, 

Our dear Schoolmistress." Thus prophetic 
spake 
A voice of faith, forecharged with evolution's 
law. 

Thus the reformer's zealous wisdom taught : 
Thus, sometime, plead with Bonaparte austere. 

Who, scorning prophecy in soaring thought 
Of self, flung answer with a royal sneer: 

"We can't be troubled with the A-B-C !" 

Vain Emperor! the sword with which he 
fought 

Made slaves which battling alphabets set free. 

The culture-captain had his marshals, too, 
Ritter and Froebel and a legion more; 

They proselyted nations, old and new. 

They set their banners fair on every shore ; 

A million teachers follow in the way 

The martyr opened to the good and true; 

Our children bask in beam of Pestalozzi's day. 

78 



PESTALOZZI 



He deemed his lavish hfe of no avail, 

Dim was his prospect of the Promised Land ; 

But even then when faith and hope did fail, 
The seed, wide scattered from his weary hand, 

Was springing, waving, bursting into flower; 
For grain of truth is waft on every gale 

And sinks in every soil its root of deathless 
power. 

He fell in conflict, but the field was won ; 

First Democrat of Culture ! Thinker brave ! 
Hail, Switzerland, proud mother of such son. 

Heap laurel garlands on his honored grave ! 
In flowers hide its consecrated sod! 

Time writes his shining epitaph : "Well done 1" 
And Science vindicates his confidence in God. 



79 



"THERE IS NO CASTE IN BLOOD." 

IN Gunga's vale is heard 
Siddhartha's sacred word ; 
Thrill, heart of Hindustan! 
Good tidings ! Man is Man. 
The Sudra's eyes grow dim 
With tears, for unto him 
Thus spake Siddhartha good, 
"There is no caste in blood." 

Take comfort, humble soul! 
The ages hopeward roll; 
Time grows compassionate; 
Thou art not doomed by Fate; 
Religion shall prevail; — 
Hail ! blessed Buddha ! hail ! 
Proclaim thy message good, 
"There is no caste in blood." 

Ye plains of Ind, rejoice 
At Love's sweet-sounding voice! 
80 



"THERE IS NO CASTE IN BLOOD'' 

Ye heights of Himalay 
Gleam bright for joy to-day! 
The truth to Buddha sent 
New hghts the Orient, 
Presaging all men good: 
"There is no caste in blood." 



8i 



VIVA LA GUERRA. 

April 23, 1898. 

VIVA laGuerra! 
That is Spain's cry; 
This our reply: 
Viva la Guerra ! 

Saber clash saber ! 

Scath visit scath ! 

V^^rath answer wrath ! 
Saber clash saber. 

Army front army! 

People or crown, 

Which shall go down? 
Army face army. 

Navy meet navy, 

Strong versus strong; 
Right against wrong; 

Navy dares navy. 

82 



VIVA LA GUERRA 



Cannon to cannon, 
Powder and ball! 
God over all! 

Cannon to cannon. 

Viva la Guerra ! 

Mars against Thor! 

Beautiful War ! 
Viva la Guerra! 



83 



BATTLE CRY. 

May I, 1898. 

THE loud drums are rolling, the mad trum- 
pets blow! 
To battle! the war is begun and we go 
To humble the pride of an arrogant foe I 

The ensign and standard which wave for the 
Crown 

Of Castile and Aragon — trample them down! 

Granada and Leon and haughty Navarre 

Shall lower their banner to Cubans lone star! 

Now under Old Glory, the Blue and the Gray 
United march shoulder to shoulder away, 
To meet the Hidalgos in furious fray. 

With musket and haversack ready are we 
To tramp the globe over, to sweep every sea, 
From isles of dead Philip to Florida's Key. 

84 



BATTLE CRY 



We think of the Maine and our hot bosoms swell 
With rage of love's sorrow, which vengeance 

must quell, 
And then we are ready to storm gates of Hell. 

Our flag streams aloft by the tempest unfurled! 
We strike for a Continent ; — nay, for the World ! 
Mene, Tekel, Upharsin! the thunder is hurled! 

The ensign and standard which wave for the 

Crown 
Of Castile and Aragon — trample them down! 
Granada and Leon and haughty Navarre 
Shall lower their banner to Cuba's lone star! 



85 



EL EMPLAZADO. 

EL EMPLAZADO, the Summoned, the 
Doomed One, 
Spain whom the nations denounce and abhor, 
Robe thy dismay in the black sanbenito. 
Come to the frowning tribunal of war. 

Curst were thy minions, their roster and scutch- 
eon, 

Alvas, Alfonsos, archarchons of hate; 
Pillared on bigotry, pride, and extortion, 

Topples to ruin thy mansion of state. 

Violence, Cruelty, Intrigue, and Treason, 

These the false courtiers who flattered thy 
throne ; 

Empires, thy sisters, forbode thee disaster, 
Even thy children their mother disown. 

Suppliant Cuba, thy daughter forsaken. 
Famished and bleeding and buff^eted sore, 

Ghastly from gashes and stabs of thy rancor, 
Binds up her wounds at an alien door. 

86 



EL EMPLAZADO 



Courts and corregidors erst at thy bidding 
Banished or butchered Moresco and Jew ; 

Ghosts from all Christendom, shades of the Mar- 
tyrs 
Flock from the sepulcher thee to pursue. 

Wrath of retributive justice overtakes thee: 
Brand of time's malison bhsters thy brow : 

Armed cabelleros and crowned kings of Bourbon, 
All are unable to succor thee now. 

El Emplazado, the Summoned, the Doomed One! 

God's Inquisition condemns thee today ! 
Earth-shaking cannon-bolts thunder thy sen- 
tence, — 

Heaven re-echoes the auto de fe. 



87 



NATIONAL SONG. 

Dedicated to the Business Men's Club of Cincinnati, 
May 13, 1903. 

AMERICA, my own ! 
Thy spacious grandeurs rise 
Faming the proudest zone 

Pavilioned by the skies ; 
Day's flying glory breaks 

Thy vales and mountains o'er, 
And gilds thy streams and lakes 
From ocean shore to shore. 



Praised be thy wood and wold. 

Thy corn and wine anc? flocks, 
The yellow blood of gold 

Drained from thy canon rocks ; 
Thy trains that shake the land, 

Thy ships that plow the main, 
Triumphant cities grand 

Roaring with noise of gain. 



NATIONAL SONG 



Earth's races look to Thee: 

The peoples of the world 
Thy risen splendors see 

And thy wide flag unfurled; 
Thy sons, in peace or war, 

That emblem who behold, 
Bless every shining star. 

Cheer every streaming fold! 

Float high, O gallant flag. 

O'er Carib Isles of palm, 
O'er bleak Alaskan crag. 

O'er far-off lone Guam ; 
Where Mauna Loa pours 

Black thunder from the deeps ; 
O'er Mindanao's shores. 

O'er Luzon's coral steeps. 

Float high, and be the sign 

Of love and brotherhood, — 
The pledge, by right divine 

Of Power, to do good ; 
For aye and everywhere, 

On continent and wave, 
Armipotent to dare, 

Imperial to save! 
89 



RIGHT OF MIGHT. 

I DO enlist me in the cause of man, 
The old, dear cause of liberty for aU, 
The hope of history since bards began 
To sing inspired heroic battle-call. 

The precious purchase of ten thousand years, 
The slow-won gains hard held at awful cost 

Of toil and thought and grief and blood and 
tears — 
Shall these be stolen from the world, and lost? 

These to retain, must force, perforce, alas. 
Lift up her banners and her thunders hurl : 

Then, when the reign of cruelty shall pass, 
Dare Charity her fighting ensign furl. 

Where rings no song for freedom, none are free ; 
Where gleams no sword for justice, justice 
dies; 
Where gates of hell prevail, then must it be 
The Powers of Darkness storm the very skies. 

90 



RIGHT OF MIGHT 



The Prince of Gentleness, did He not bring 

A brand, lest violence on earth prevail? 
He preached. He prayed. And poets needs 
must sing 
War against wrong, or Christ himself must 
fail. 



91 



JAMES E. IMURDOCH. 

On His Eightieth Birthday. 

FOUR-SCORE! That gallant stripling? 
No! 
That passion-breathing Romeo, 
Who climbed, last night, the garden wall, 
Mocked by Mercutio's madcap call! 

Four-score? What, he? Charles Surface? Nay; 
He is as young as blooming May ; 
You do but jest; I know him well — 
Who can forget wild Mirabel? 

Whatever the costume, forsooth, 
The same inimitable youth! 
Marked j^ou the sables Hamlet wore, 
Dark-plumed, in moonlit Elsinore? 

Gray locks? Believe the joke who can! 
They "make him up" to play "old man"; 
Pluck off the wig ! Crow's feet erase ! 
And recognize wag ]\Iurdoch's face! 

92 



JAMES E. MURDOCH 



Nay ; — sober Time his card holds high, 
And, swearing figures will not lie. 
Adds up the years and proves the date: 
See, in the ten's place, here, an eight. 

So be it ; Chronos, go thy ways ; 
Our friend grows old and full of days ; 
His frame may bend to Time's control, 
But Time is servant to his soul. 

His drama on the world's wide stage, 
Now in the last calm scene, old age, 
Has been throughout legitimate. 
In motive true, performance great. 

Whoever thus fulfils his part 
Achieves the uttermost of art ; 
Who thus the scene of life has trod 
Pleases the Manager — his God. 

Or soon or late, exeunt all — 
The bell will ring, the curtain fall, 
And we, the actors, put away 
The masking garments of the play, 
93 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



When we from oiF the boards have passed, 
And every light is out at last, 
We'll leave the theater and go 
Where real life replaces show. 

Play out the play ! and be content 
To wait for that supreme event ; 
Dear Murdoch ! master, father, friend, — 
Star on ! still bright'ning to the end ! 



94 



THE CONCORD SEER. 

THE Transcendentalist — he now transcends 
The cloud of death to join exalted 
friends. 
The Saadi of the West, the Saint, the Sage, 
The north-sprung Plato of an un-Greek age, 
Hath changed his habitation, and his ghost 
Takes note authentic of the unknown coast. 
Ah, joy serene! there doth he recognize 
Congenial souls foreknown "polite and wise": — 
Two bards were first to hail his risen wraith. 
One sang the Psalm of Life, one that of Death; 
Then mystic Hawthorne took his willing hand. 
As Vergil Dante's in the Shadow Land; 
Now haply doth his converse reconcile 
Momentous discords with redeemed Carlyle; 
Perhaps in Soul's consortable domain 
He meets the shade of erudite Montaigne; 
Or German-Grecian Goethe shows the way 
To Fields Elysian where the Ancients stray ; — 

95 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



By some celestial brook of lucent flow, 
Where plane-trees with immortal verdure grow, 
May sit, discoursing calm philosophies, 
The Concord Seer, with argute Socrates. 



96 



THE POET OF CLOVERNOOK. 

Read at the Celebration of Alice Gary's birthday, 

to the children of the Public Schools of 

Cincinnati, April 26, 1880. 

A POET born, not made, 
By Nature taught, she knew, 
And, knowing, still obeyed 
The Beautiful, the True. 

Hers was the seeing eye, 

The sympathetic heart, 
The subtle art whereby 

Lone genius summons art. 

She caught the primal charm 

Of every rural scene, — 
Of river, cottage, farm. 

Blue sky, and woodland green. 

Baptized in Sorrow's stream, 

She sang, how sweetly well, 
Of true Love's tender dream, 

And Death's pale asphodel. 
97 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Her pensive muse has fled 
From hill and meadow-brook ; 

No more her footsteps tread 
Thy paths, fair Clovernook. 

No more may she behold 

The dew-crowned Summer morn 
On wings of sunrise gold 

Fly o'er the bending corn. 

No more her mournful gaze 
Shall seek the twilight sky, 

When parting Autumn days 
Flush hectic ere they die. 

Nor note of joyous bird. 

Nor April's fragrant breath, 

Nor tear, nor loving word, 

May break the spell of Death. 

Sleep on ! and take thy rest. 
In Greenwood by the sea! 

Dear Poet of the West, 

Thy West remembers thee. 



98 



THE GREENFIELD WIZARD. 

(J. W. R.) 

TWO things there are in heaven above 
And earth below — the greater, Love, 
The lesser, Death — and therefor grew 
Heart's-ease and rosemary and rue 
And myrrh and moly, magic plants ; 
These, and a common rose or two 
Besprent with Indiana dew. 
My wizard gathers from their haunts ; 
Distils the balmy, subtle juice 
To make a spell of potent use; 
Filters a seeming simple wine 
Nectared with some drops most rare — 
(How he finds the tinct or where, 
Not the critics can divine ! ) 
Whoso gives the wine his lips. 
Sipping smiles, and laughing sips ; 
But, before he drinks it up, 
Tears have trickled in the cup. 



a.»fG.-j 



99 



WILLIAM BAIRD OF RIDGEVILLE. 

NOW who is the delightfulest 
Old soldier that shakes hands with you? 
The genial host, the welcome guest, 

The teeming brain, the bosom true, 
The soul of song and merry jest? 

The prince of all good fellows, who? 
"Why, WilHam Baird of RidgeviUe!" 

Whenever meets the G. A. R., 

Through rain or dust he hies to town; 

He gladdens the excursion car, 
And, as his regiment tramps down 

The gala street, you hear afar 

The marching measure, "Old John Brown," 

From William Baird of Ridgeville. 

Then all the casements open wide, 

A thousand flags are shaken free, 
The balconies on either side 

Are loud with shouts of jubilee, 
And thrilling maidens wave with pride 

Their kerchiefs, laughing, crying: "See! 
That's William Baird of Ridgeville !" 

100 



WILLIAM BAIRD OF RIDGEVILLE 

All children feel his gracious charm, — 
Of gentle birth, or sprung of churls ; 

From hut and mansion, street and farm. 
Troop eager round him lads and girls; 

The baby leaves its mother's arm 

To ride the shoulder, pull the curls 

Of William Baird of Ridgeville. 



The fools in flock from William fly, 
Like fluttered sparrows from a hawk; 

The women hover warmly nigh. 
Like bees around a lily-stalk, — 

Enchanted by the sparkling eye 

And by the spiced and nectared talk 

Of William Baird of Ridgeville. 



Yet Bill is not a ladies' man ; 

He consorts with "the boys"; — he jokes- 
This front-faced, sturdy veteran — 

With common and uncommon folks ; 
He's not the least a Puritan : — 

Sometimes he drinks, and daily smokes 
His briar-pipe, at Ridgeville. 

lOI 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Wit's gold is minted in his brain 

And glitters from his lavish tongue: 

The gravest deacon frowns in vain 

To quench the laughter ; old and young 

Report the brilliant quips that rain 
Like scattered pearls at random flung 

By William Baird of Ridgeville. 



No wight can counterfeit or steal 

What unpremeditated art 
Gives him to improvise, to feel, 

To waken in the answering heart; 
What they from learning's pride conceal, 

The Muses uninvoked impart 
To William Baird of Ridgeville. 



An unambitious soul hath Bill; 

The man is modest as a maid; 
Down at the foot of fortune's hill 

His geniuG bides in calm and shade; 
He reads his Shakespeare, dreams his fill; 

A scythe he swings or plies a spade, — 
Bold Captain Baird of Ridgeville. 

102 



WILLIAM BAIRD OF RIDGEVILLE 

Nor wife nor child his arms enfold ; 

No, no — he is a bachelor ; 
Yet, in his bosom aches an old 

Deep wound which antedates the war; 
He mourns — so is the secret told — 

His dear, dead sweetheart, Eleanor; — 
True William Baird of Ridgeville. 

Bill's time must come some day, to die! 

Then like a soldier he'll be found. 
Nor fear the bullet's whizzing cry, 

Nor dread the final trumpet's sound. 
If I be breathing then, may I 

Be with him on that battleground, 
To kiss his lips and say good-bye 

To William Baird of Ridgeville. 



103 



LET'S SHAKE. 

Impromptu. 

YOU thought you would take me, you say, 
by surprise! 
You rascal ! I knew you the moment my eyes 
Lit on your old phiz, and I couldn't mistake 
Your voice nor your motions. How are you? 

Let's shake ! 

Train late? But you got here? Now why did 

you wire 
Me not to expect you, you measureless liar? 
Come up to my den, and by jolly ! we'll make 
A night of it — where is your luggage? 

Let's shake! 

Say, how have you been? Let me look in your 

face; 
Have you won, have you lost, in the strenuous 

race ? 
Have you knocked the persimmons and taken the 

cake ? 

No? Here's a small wallet — we'll share it — 

Let's shake! 
104 



LET'S SHAKE 



You may bank on my heart, — it is truer than 

gold; 
Hot, hotter it grows as the world waxes cold ; 
Through flood and through flame I would go 

for your sake. 
That's so, Bill, you grizzly old humbug. 

Let's shake! 



You're married, I dare say, or leastwise, in love? 
Speak out, for you know we are like hand and 

glove ; 
I used to think you and Belle Esmond would 

wed ; — 
Yes, yes, as I wrote you, the baby is dead ; — 
I feared for awhile that my wife's heart must 

break ; 
Your hand, dear old comrade — don't mind 
me, — 

Let's shake! 



God bless you! I'm awfully glad you are here, 
You must not make fun of this womanish tear ; 
He was only a baby, scarce two Aprils old, 
But, William, I tell you they do get a hold 

105 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Of the heartstrings, these babies, and, since ours 

went, 
Why, somehow or other, we're not quite content 
With this planet; — but when all our miseries 

here 
J^re over, I hope we may strike a new sphere 
Up yonder, where hearts never hunger nor 

ache ; — 
You'll get there, I reckon, if I do ? 



Let's shake I 



io6 



A WELCOME TO BOZ. 

Impromptu. 

IN immortal Weller's name, 
By Micawber's deathless fame, 
By the flogging wreaked on Squeers, 
By Job Trotter's fluent tears, 
By the beadle Bumble's fate 
At the hands of vixen mate, 
By the famous Pickwick Club, 
By the dream of Gabriel Grubb, 
In the name of Snodgrass' muse, 
Tupman's amorous interviews. 
Winkle's ludicrous mishaps. 
And the fat boy's countless naps. 
By Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, 
By Miss Sally Brass, the lawyer. 
In the name of Newman Noggs, 
River Thames and London fogs, 
Richard Swiveller's excess. 
Feasting with the Marchioness, 
By Jack Bunsby's oracles, 
By the chime of Christmas bells, 
107 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



By the cricket on the hearth, 
Scrooge's frown and Crotchit's mirth, 
By spread tables and good cheer, 
Wayside inns and pots of beer, 
Hostess plump and jolly host. 
Coaches for the country post, 
Chambermaid in love with Boots, 
Toodles, Traddles, Tapley, Toots, 
Jarley, Varden, Mister Dick, 
Susan Nipper, Mistress Chick, 
Snevellicci, Lilyvick, 
Mantalini's predilections 
To transfer his "dem" affections, 
Podsnap, Pecksniff, Chuzzlewit, 
Quilp and Simon Tappertit, 
Weg and Boffin, Smike and Paul, 
Nell and Jenny Wren and all, — 
Be not Sairy Gamp forgot, — 
No, nor Peggotty and Trot, — 
By poor Barnaby and Grip, 
Dora, Flora, Di and Gip, 
Perrybingle, Pinch and Pip — 
Welcome, long-expected guest. 
Welcome, Dickens, to the West. 

1867. 



108 



THE BOOK AUCTION. 

• • TT OW much am I bid?" said the spry 

J L auctioneer, 

"For the lays of a well-known bard?" 
The bard, incog, who was hovering near, 

Glanced up, and his breath came hard. 

"I am offered a dime! Just think of it, 
gents ! 
For these *Songs of the Dewy Dawn' ! 
Are you all done bidding? Ten ! ten cents — 
Ten cents — and — going — and — gone ! 

"You don't know elegant books from 
trash !" 

Joked the jubilant auctioneer; 
The dubious author bit his mustache, 

And felt confoundedly queer. 

"A beautiful copy of Shakespeare's pomes ! 
How much am I bid? Look alive! 
A right nice work to embellish your homes ; 
Five cents ! Sold to cash, for five !" 
109 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



The incog singer twinkled his eye 
And inwardly said with a thrill: 

"American poetry doesn't sell high, 
But I'd hate to go cheap as old Bill." 



no 



A GIFT ACKNOWLEDGED. 

February 19, 1881. 

YOUR Winter gift of bud and bloom 
Took nature by surprise; 
'Twas sudden Summer in my room, 
And April in my eyes. 

The kindly mist a moment stole 

The flowers from my view, 
But lo ! they blossomed in my soul, 

Where love their fragrance knew. 

Fair embassy ! their smiles I greet. 

Camellia, pink and rose ; 
I understand the message sweet 

Their gentle hearts enclose. 

Their winsome beauty gladdens me 

With this immortal truth: 
No age can quite unhappy be 

That still remembers youth. 
Ill 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Dear boys ! companions ! friends sincere ! 

More warm and true than men, 
I thank you most because my tear 

Made me a boy again. 



112 



THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 

ENSHRINED among roses 
The Homestead reposes 
With vines mantled o'er ; 
Ground-ivy and clover 
Are running all over 
The stone at the door. 



Pinks, lilies, are blowing-, 
Blue violets showing 

Gold hearts to the June; 
Bees going and coming 
Keep evermore humming 

Their Hyblean tune. 

'Twas here that I wasted 
Youth's flower and tasted 

Love's first honey-dew; 
A boy here I slumbered. 
By care unencumbered, 

Long, balmy nights through. 
113 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



The wood-birds each morning 
Gave musical warning 

For shadows to fly; 
Their rhapsody choral 
Foretold the auroral 

First flush of the sky. 

With rising emotion 
Akin to devotion 

The scene I behold; — 
With fond recollections 
Of tender aff^ections 

Too sweet to be told. 



114 



JENNIE MOORE. 

THE morning air is richl}^ rife 
With southern soft perfumes ; 
Yon orchard glows with sudden blush 

Of mingled buds and blooms ; 
The madrigals of wooing birds 

Awaken amorous Spring, 
And "Jennie IMoore, sweet Jennie Moore" 
Is all the song they sing. 

Glad Yalobusha's rippling waves 

Repeat the darling name; 
The zephyr lost among the pines 

Dies murmuring the same; 
And when the hush of twilight steals 

Along the dreamy shore, 
The bHssful silence to my heart 

Keeps singing "Jennie Moore." 



"5 



ASHES. 

THE fire of love is dead. 
No spark of living red 
The cold, gray ashes show. 
Be still! thy sighing breath — 
Can it requicken' death .f^ 

Nay, hope not, dream not so. 
Ah, no, no, no! 



ii6 



POSY. 

LAURA is the first to seek 
Rime of March in wildwood bleak; 
First to mourn the aster's death, 
Withered by November's breath; 
Every glade and glen she knows 
Where the coy spring-beauty grows, 
Searches sunny slope and dell 
For the pearl or golden bell 
Of the quivering addertongue 
By the wandering zephyr swung; 
She and April, comrades boon, 
Hail the early-crowned puccoon; 
In the dingle lone she sees 
Tremulous anemones ; 
From the breast of June she takes 
Columbines and plumy brakes; 
Not a daisy she'll forget, 
Nor the humblest violet. 



117 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Lilies proud, on stately stalks, 

Bow to greet her where she walks; 

Roses to her pathway lean. 

Queens saluting lovelier queen, 

Emulous to win her eyes. 

Rivals for self-sacrifice ; 

Blessed they whom she shall choose 

Though their fragrant lives they lose ! 

Joyful the elected flower 

Which may triumph one brief hour, 

Mingled with the clustered few, 

IMusical in form and hue ! 

Thus sweet notes that singly please 

Join in chordant melodies ! 

So do gathered fancies twine 

Graceful in the rhythmic line ; — 

Like a perfect Ij-ric lay 

Laura's exquisite bouquet. 



ii8 



A SNOW BIRD. 

BESIDE the curbstone, in gusty whirl 
Of dust and snow-drift, stood a Httle 
girl; 
The piteous tears ran down her baby face; 
In dumb despair she stood, nor moved a pace, 
Her flying curls and fluttering short dress 
Pathetic signals of forlorn distress ; 
Her fondling hands, all purple with the cold, 
Unto her breast a china doll did hold. 
"What is the matter, dear, why do you cry?" 
Her chill-cramped lips made dolef ullest reply : 
"I am so cold, and I don't know the way." 
That was the most her helplessness could say. 

Ere long, before a laughing, ruddy flame. 
She smiled through tears and shyly told her 

name ; 
I led the strayling to her mother's door, 
And in she flew, — I never saw her more. 

119 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Yet oftentimes, when Winter scoffs the sun, 

She is my bosom's guest, that timid one ; 

She steals into my heart and sobbing stands, 

A naked doll in her caressing hands ; 

I see her shiver and I hear her say, 

"I am so cold, and I don't know the way." 



120 



THE UPSET. 

ENFORCED pursuit of silver eagles fleet 
Gave early haste to my reluctant feet, 
And so it chanced I hurried — I and Care — 
At sunrise down a city thoroughfare; 
But by the grace of some directing fay 
I met a sight that gladdened me all day. 

I saw a beer-plump Saxon — Bacchus' son — 
His red, round face the symbol of slow fun ; 
Unconscious he of all 'twixt sky and earth 
Except one soul-engrossing cause of mirth: 
He dragged a painted sled, and, perched 

thereon. 
Sat snug a three-years' maiden, bright as dawn, 
And happy as the sparrows chirping round, 
Crumb-hunting near her on the snowy ground. 
A sudden turn ! a laughing cry, and lo ! 
The sled upsets, and Madchen prints the snow. 
She laughs ; I laugh ; loud ha-ha's Bacchus' 

son; — 
Then gravely he, — "By yolly ! dot vas fun." 

121 



THE SCHOOL GIRL. 

FROM some sweet home the morning train 
Brings to the city. 
Five days a week, in sun or rain, 
Returning hke a song's refrain, 
A school girl pretty. 

A violet's unaffected grace 

Is dainty miss's, 
Yet, in her shy, expressive face, 
The touch of urban arts I trace. 

And artifices. 

No one but she and Heaven knows 

Of what she's thinking ; 
It may be either books or beaux. 
Fine scholarship or stylish clothes, 

Per cents or prinking. 

How happy must the household be 

This morn who kissed her; 
Not every one can make so free ; 
Who sees her, inly wishes she 

Were his own sister. 

122 



THE SCHOOL GIRL 



How favored is the book she cons, 

The slate she uses, 
The hat she Hghtly doffs and dons, 
The orient sunshade that she owns, 

The desk she chooses. 



Is she famihar with the wars 

Of JuHus Caesar? 
Do crucibles, and Le3^den jars. 
And Browning, and the moons of Mars, 

And Euclid, please her? 



She studies music, I opine; 

O day of knowledge! 
And other mysteries divine 
Of imitation or design. 

Taught in the college. 



A charm attends her everywhere, 

A sense of beauty ; 
Care smiles to see her free of care; 
The hard heart loves her unaware ; 

Age pays her duty. 
123 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Her innocence is panoply, 

Her weakness, power ; 
The earth her guardian, and the sky ; 
God's every star is her ally, 

And every flower. 



124 



THE READERS 

COME hither, my ten years' maiden ; 
O'er what do you ponder so much? 
"I am reading in Tanglewood Stories, 
The tale of the Golden Touch." 

Ah! Hattie, my flax-haired darling. 
How buried in study you seem. 

"I am reading in Tales from Shakespeare, 
Of Puck in Midsummer Night's Dream." 

And there on the sofa is Mayo ; 

My laddie, what pleases you so? 
'"This picture and fable in iEsop, — 

See here, — of the Pitcher and Crow." 

Come hither, my dream-eyed baby. 
You're falling asleep on the floor! 
I'm reading in Sing Song, papa, — 
I wish you would read me some more." 



«T» 



125 



WAG. 

Obiit, February 7, 1878. 

Hl£i was only a dog, and a mongrel at that, 
And worthless and troublesome, lazy 
and fat, — 
Was Wag, who died yesterday night ; 
Yet now that his barking forever is o'er. 
And his caudal appendage can waggle no more. 
His elegy I will indite. 

'Twas seldom authority mastered his will; 
He always was noisy when bid to be still ; 

He slumbered while danger was near ; 
He ran after chickens against all command ; 
When ordered to "sick" he would heedlessly 
stand ; 

His principal passion was fear. 

From morning till night he would dig in the 

ground 
To get at a rabbit, but, when it was found, 

126 



WAG 

In terror he took to his heels ; 
But there was one duty he never did shun, 
From that naught could drive him, to that he 
would run: 

Wag never neglected his meals. 

The tax that I paid the police on his poll, 
A dollar a year, I begrudged in my soul, 

For Wag I thought dear at a cent ; 
And once, in my hardness, I gloomily said, 
"I wish that the no-account puppy were dead!" 

But now he is dead, I repent. 

Wag came from Kentucky, a waif, bundled up 
And packed in a basket, a charity pup, — 

In pity Ave warmed him and fed ; 
The only return that his nature could give 
For preserving his life, was serenely to live. 

Content with his board and his bed. 

He was kind to the dogs upon Tusculum Hill ; 
He followed them all with fraternal good will. 

From coach dog to commonest cur ; 
He was grateful to people who treated him right. 
And for his young mistress he even would 
fight. 
But not lose his dinner for her. 

127 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



I miss his black body curled up and asleep, 
I miss his contortions, his bark, and his leap, 

And the sound of his gnawing at bones ; 
The very same night that the Pope died at 

Rome, 
Poor Wag, all alone, in the wash-house at home, 

Yielded up his last shivering moans. 

And when to the children, next morning, I said. 
As they sat at the table, "Yes, Wag — he is 
dead," 

There was not a dry eye in the room; 
And Auntie began, with remorse, to recall 
How lately she'd driven deceased from the hall. 

With scoldings and blows of a broom. 



Now Wag is asleep near an apple-tree old. 
And a dog-rose shall blossom above his dear 
mold. 

And there shall a tablet be set; 
For though but a dog, and a mongrel at that, 
And worthless, and idle, and lazy, and fat, — 

Poor Wag was our dog, and a pet. 



128 



DONATELLO. 

WHO will capture Donatello? 
Roving cat ! 
Fierce, ungovernable fellow; 
Musical as Leporello, — 

Sharp and flat ! 
Terrible in a duello. 

Ragamuffin, have you met a 

Felis fat? 
Ancestored in gay Valetta, 
Where brown dames in black faldetta, 

Walk and chat — 
Hot his blood as flame of JEtna., 

Beautiful, romantic, splendid 

Autocrat ! 
To the forest, unattended, 
Daring Donatello wended: 

Owl and bat. 
Weasel, mole, and mink, he rended. 
129 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Savage wildwood his unbounded 

Habitat ; 
By no man or mastiff hounded, 
By the midnight mirk surrounded- 

Think of that ! 
Oft his caterwaul he sounded. 

Freedom to the gallant fellow. 

Exeat ! 
Victor in each fierce duello, 
Midnight, madcap Leporello ! 

Roving cat! 
Graceless, graceful Donatello ! 



130 



GABRIEL OF SCHWARTZENWALD. 

RHYME, and ring the changes well, 
Sing the song of Gabriel, 
Gabriel of Schwartzenwald. 

Lo, a voice delusive called 
From the Ohio's crooked vale, 
Saying, "Sail and sail and sail 
Over the sea and hither away. 
Westering to the Land of Play ; 
Happy region of Do-as-you-please, 
Where the guilders grow on trees. 
Where the peasants all are kings 
And there be no underlings." 

Gabriel, the idle dreamer. 
Heard the Utopian voice alluring; 
Sought a sail-ship, — not a steamer; 
Soon the vessel leaves her mooring. 
Veers and tacks to Occident, 
Bears him o'er the crinkled sea; 
Never soul so indolent 
Lounged upon a deck as he. 
131 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



With the vagrant breeze he ghdes 
Over sun-Ht, moon-Ht tides, 
Skims to port and shore ; 
Spins along the shining rail, 
Sleeps into Ohio's vale, — 
Wakes — the journey o'er. 
Not an idler Gabriel sees, 
Not a kreutzer on the trees; 
Every bretzel must be bought; 
Naught is proffered him for naught. 
'Tis the Region of Unrest, 
Busy, toiling, moiling West! 

All the peasant kings he found 
Building houses, tilling ground. 
Gabriel of Schwartzenwald 
From his dream is disenthralled ; 
Transatlantic, far away. 
Eastward looms the Land of Play. 

Like the lily, like the daisy, 
Lolling Gabriel was lazy; 
Clownish were his clumsy paces, 
Ludicrous his slow grimaces; 
Ill-defined the thoughts he spoke. 
Like the wreathed tobacco smoke 
132 



GABRIEL OF SCHWARTZENWALD 

From his meerschaum upward shed 
Curling round his shaggy head. 
Little could he understand: — 
"Vish I vas in Faderland, 
Nicht is goot for notings here 
Only shust das lager-bier.' 



5» 



Easily he wept or smiled, 
Easily was he beguiled; 
Rill-like, shallow, o'er his mind, 
Ran affections swift and kind; 
Secretly he shared his meat 
With a lame cur on the street ; 
"Vonce I had a hund," said he, 
*'Vat vas very freund to me; 
Ya, mein Herr, dat hund vas mine; 
Vish I heard him barkin' here ; 
Vish I had a glass goot bier, 
Oder flash von German wein." 

Hard by Mineami Bayou, 
Where the gadding breezes cool 
Loiter up from the Ohio, 
Gabriel, at sink of sun, 
Throned upon a wooden stool, 
Fondled his accordion. 
133 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Then the ragged urchins round, 

And their brown-legged sisters, maybe, 

Lugging each a flax-haired baby, — 

Sometimes, too, the weary mothers, 

Yea, and I, and lingering others, 

By sad, dulcet quaverings won, 

Gathered near to catch the sound; 

O'er the hill the risen moon 

Paused to hear the mellow tune ; 

All too sadly, all too soon, 

Gabriel would cease to play. 

Light his pipe and pufF away. 

"Vas a Fraulein," — mum.bled he ; 

"Vish I vas to-night not hier; 

Not America for me, — 

Only shust das lager-bier." 

"Play a waltz now, Gabriel !" "Nein, 

Rhine wein ist der beste wein." 

Gabriel did sigh and sadden 
For the linden shades of Baden, 
For the glooms of Schwartzenwald ; 
So a homesick brief he scrawled 
To his mother, her to tell 
That he was not strong or well. 
134 



GABRIEL OF SCHWARTZENWALD 

(Of the Fraulein wrote he not, — 
Haply Gabriel forgot.) 
Soon the doting mother old, — 
Four-score were her years and three, — 
Sent the lout a purse of gold, 
With the summons — "Come to me ! 
Komm zu mir, mein Sohn, geschwind, 
Komm zu mir, mein liebes Kind." 

From the Ohio's crooked vale. 
Flying fast by rail and sail, 
Home to Schwartzenwald away. 
Eastward to the Land of Play, 
Gabriel of Schwartzenw^ald 
Followed the mother-tongue that called 
From the fatherland in tearful tone, 
"Komm, Gabriel, mein lieber Sohn !" 
Followed the mother-voice and the call 
Of the nameless Fraulein, short or tall, 
And the coaxing lisp of the linden leaves. 
And the bark of a dog forlorn that grieves 
For an absent master ; the gurgle, too. 
Of bottled grape- juice and foamy brew. 
And the tweedle-dee of the fiddle gay 
That leads to the dance on a holiday ; — 
Followed his dreams and his memories, 

135 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Whirled with the sleeping speed of wheels, 
Flew on the eager wings of the breeze, 
Doubting of naught that his foolish heart feels. 
Sure that the country of Do-as-you-please, 
If any such ever is found upon earth, 
Is the home of our mother, the land of our birth. 



136 



COFFEA ARABICA. 

MORE entrancing than aroma 
From the Hindu sacred soma, 
Comes a fragrant 
Essence vagrant 
Floating up 
From my quaint Zumpango cup, 

Incense rare. 
Evanescent steam ascending, 
Curling, wavering, fading, blending, 

Vanishing in viewless air. 
Let me sip and dream and sing 
Musing many an idle thing, 
Let me sing and dream and sip 
Making many an fancied trip 
Far away and far away 
Over ocean, gulf and bay 
To islands w^hence the spicy wind 

Breathes languor on the tropic sea, 
To sultry strands of teeming Ind, 
To coasts of torrid Araby, 
137 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



To realms no Boreal breath may chill, 

Like rich Brazil, 
Or Jabal's clouded hill on hill. 
Or warm Bulgosa's valley low. 
To zones where Summer splendors glow, 
Where seasons never come or go, 
Where coffee trees perpetual blow. 

While I drowse and dream and sip, 
Sailing, sailing slides a ship 

Over the glittering sea, 
Measuring leagues of night and day. 

Bearing and bringing to me. 
Bringing from far away, away. 

The pale green magical berry. 

The seed of the virtuous cherry, 

The bean of the blossom divine! 

Bringing from over the brine, 
Bringing from Demarara, 

From balsamy San Para, 
Bringing from Trans-Sahara, 

From hoard of the Grand Bashaw, 
Or redolent chests of Menelek, 

An Abyssinian cargo 

Richer than freight of Argo, 
Treasured in garners under the deck, 
138 



COFFEA ARABICA 



Bringing and bearing for me 

The gift of the coffee tree ! 

Better than blood of the Spanish vine, 

Or ruddy or amber wine of the Rhine ; 
Bearing the bean of the blessed tree ! 

Better than bousa or sake fine, 
Or sampan loads of oolong tea, 
Souchong, twankaj, or bohea, — 

Bringing the virtuous bean divine. 
The cofFee-tree cherry. 
The magical berry. 
More entrancing than aroma 
From the Hindu sacred soma. 



139 



AN INDIA SHAWL. 

THIS dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove, 
Where Ravee stream winds sunward from 
Cashmere ; 
By nimble gold 'twas borne around the sphere 
For one who gave it me in friendly love. 
To rival nature's hues the weaver strove, 
For beauty's sake and not barbaric show ; 
Behold, commingled here, elusive glow 
The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove. 
This silk soft web was never merchandise ; 
A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare, — 
A sumptuous robe that Maj esty would prize. 
And India's British Empress well might wear ; 
'Tis mine for thee within whose beaming eyes 
I see love's India, O my queenly Fair ! 



140 



APOLOGY. 

FULL well mj loyal heart remembers. 
The vow of rapture's lavish tongue, 
For thee to smother grief's Decembers 
In joy's June roses and make over 
The world; — how easily, fond lover, 

Could I when life and hope were young. 

When troth-plight had begemmed thy finger 
Unhappiness should cease to be ; 

No shape of care near thee should linger; 

Exultant, I, thy love to guerdon, 

Would weep thy tears and bear thy burden, 
Yea, purchase thy Gethsemane. 

For thee should hemlock turn to honey. 

Thy hand, unhurt, the thorn might hold. 
Darkness should light thee, and the sunny 
Celestial days, triumphal, singing 
Around the globe, should bless thee, bringing 
Anew to earth the Age of Gold. 
141 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



Thy beauty and thy grace to glory, 
Would I inweave thy golden name 

In shining weft of song and story; 

Would I, on love's heroic mission, 

Ascend the sunned peak of ambition 
To pluck the Alpine flower, fame. 

O season of delirious passion ! 
What knew or recked my spirit then 
Of deeds in less transcendent fashion 
Than youth's high drama realizes 
In visions, dreams, and enterprises. 
That lift to godhood mortal men ! 

Naught is impossible to Heaven, 
Nor to the puissance of youth! 
Imagination's quickening leaven 
Works in the pulsing brain and being 
Till every sense hath second-seeing 
And all that should be true is truth. 

O glorious falsehood and illusion! 

Call not the lover's transports lies : 
The white light of his heart in fusion 
Makes visible the far ideal. 
Only the low earth is unreal. 

Secure the lover walks the skies. 
142 



APOLOGY 

I trod with thee the starry spaces, 

I told the only tale I knew ; 
We dwelt in spirit, not in places, 
And, if the promises then spoken, — 
Be witness, O my God! — were broken, 
The promising was heavenly true. 



143 



UNRECONCILED. 

WHEN winter's loom of cloud 
Weaves robes of snow 
To wrap the hills in shroud, 

My meditations go 
Where shuddering tempests blow 
Above a little grave. 

When spring's pale wild-flowers wake 

Where sunbeams play, 
Must not my full heart break? 

Birds, blossoms, come with May, — 
Would that, some happy day. 

My child could come again. 

When air-built cloud-fleets sail 

Blue summer's sky. 
And violets exhale 

Their fragrant souls and die, 
My soul lifts Rachel's cry. 

For, oh! the child is not. 
144 



UNRECONCILED 



Most mournful time of all 

Is when the leaf 
Fades, withering to its fall, 

Ending its term so brief. 
Like him, my joy, my grief, 

Lost in the senseless grave. 

The new moons come and go, 

Stars rise and set. 
Time's healing waters flow 

Across my wound, and yet 
Grief cannot pay love's debt ; — 

Love's solace is to mourn. 



145 



ANNIVERSARY. 

THIS is your birthday, dearest? Dearest 
wife, 
Fond sweetheart of my youth and of my 
prime, 
Lover and friend and comrade, in whose life 
I live unconscious of the flight of time ! 

Three-score? and must we grant it so? Why, 
then 

Thank Heaven we have tasted life thus long, 
For life is rich, and shall grow sweeter when 

Like mellowing wine age renders it less strong. 

We shall grow old together, count the years. 
Welcome each sunrise and each setting sun ; 

Together laugh our laugh or weep our tears. 
Wait, act and suffer, till the sands be run. 

I owned Golconda and the Coast of Pearl, 
Being a boy — it was but yesterday ; 

One shared my fortune, giving hers — one girl — 

Whither, my darling, fled youth's dream 

away ? 

146 



ANNIVERSARY 



Where are the morning and the wealth of spring ? 

Gone with the air-built castle — vanished, 
gone ! 
The dew of youth went sunward, and the wing 

Is broken now that soared at golden dawn. 

It is too late for riches, land and gold ; 

Too late to pluck the flaming rose of power; 
My hands have bled to gather what they hold — 

Buds of dead hope — ambition's phantom 
flower. 

Yet all I am I dedicate to you, 

As on our spousal morning. Love, and bring 
This heart-born offering to pledge anew. 

In Autumn song, the promises of Spring. 



147 



AMAUROTE. 

SAFE in towery Amaurote 
Now I dwell; 
From the tumbling sea my boat, 
Like a bell of foam afloat, 
Up Anyder's refluent stream 

Voyaged well; 
And I woke unto a dream 
Realized in realm remote 
Of Utopia. 

Whiles my eudaemonian guide 

Thrummed her lyre, 
Charmful o'er the billows wide. 
In the distance I espied 
Gleam of opalescent dome. 

Golden spire; 
Then my soul foreknew its home 
Far beyond the roaring tide. 
In Utopia! 
148 



AM AU ROTE 



All was sooth as poets old 

Gave renown ; 
All that seers and sages told, 
Fabling of an Age of Gold ; — 
Towery Amaurote was there, 

Blissful town ! 
Far away from everywhere, 
Flushed with rosy light, behold ! 

In Utopia. 

Visioned splendor reared from naught 

Rose sublime ; 
Art and Beauty thither brought 
All Imagination taught 
Of the mystery of Man 

And of Time; 
Wisdom, smiling on the plan, 
Bade the wonderwork be wrought, 

In Utopia ! 



Have I eaten of the lote 

So its spell 
Laps and lulls me to devote 
Hours Lethean, far remote 

149 



SAGA OF THE OAK 



From the dreadful things that be? 

Nay, I dwell 
Where o'er dream-deeps Poesie 
Sang me, in a foam-bell boat, 

To Utopia. 



THE END 



150 



22 t8G4 



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